Border
by Artificial Identity
Summary: With his best friend and adopted sister an alcoholic stoner and his boyfriend a dead, transparent arse hole of a ghost, Mikuo is tempted to press charges against the sadistic God that decided this would be a nice life for anyone; but, since he has neither a godly lawyer, or the stupidity to do so, he'll simply rebel; by transcending the border of life and death. Mostly MikuoxLuki.


The accident wasn't her fault. Repeating it over and over and over in her head, like a monotonous chant; _it's not my fault, it's not my fault. _Surely she was sick of hearing her own thoughts by now.

Head hung, pink-polished fingers tightened around her satchel bag, the woman stared at her feet in what came across as guilt, regret; maybe even mourning. Sure, she'd never been close to her younger brother – he always just followed in her footsteps, did whatever she did. Unfortunately, she wasn't a good role model. In fact, she was such a _horrible _role model that it had led to his untimely demise. Drunker than she'd ever been, he'd stumbled out of the bar, onto the road and- well, you get the picture.

Even if she hadn't known him, hadn't spoken to him in two years even, she felt horrible when she opened that letter from the hospital, and even worse during the skype conversation with her parents living abroad, discussing the plans for the funeral. Her mother had been incomprehensible through her tears.

She really hoped it was one of her brother's practical jokes – he'd always been big on them when they were kids. Admittedly, that _was _over ten years ago. Last she'd seen of him he was a wreck – alcoholic, getting in fights every second day, expelled from so many schools he was sent away to a reform school. God; she didn't know what had gone wrong. One day, he was fine – happy as hell, a bundle of teenage enthusiasm. The next, he was drinking on the curb, throwing empty beer bottles at passing cars as he smoked a fag, threatening girls to come closer as they passed.

She sighed, resting her shoulder against the door to her office, before giving it a shove. She stumbled in, letting her bag fall off her shoulder. She had to write a eulogy – just in case this _wasn't _a practical joke like she'd been telling herself day-in-day-out. Admittedly, she could probably get away with not turning up to work today; but it helped her take her mind off things. Better to busy herself with clients and paperwork, rather than sitting at home in a puddle of misery. Still; she had time to do this before her work day officially started.

Pulling a red-pen out of the macaroni pen-holder her daughter made her at school, she pushed back her desk chair, falling onto it in a heap. She grabbed a sheet of pad paper from her lower drawer and began to draft up her eulogy.

_My brother and I weren't that close in the last few years of his life. We went separate ways – our age difference became really evident when I started work, and he hit high school, making it difficult to find things to talk about. While he was all about the latest gossip, I was all about studies, working, and colleagues – that sort of stuff. When we were little, we were pretty close. I was six years old when he was born; I can still remember holdin…_

She stared at the page, blinking a few times. She was indoors, in the middle of a draught – there was no way it could be raining. Yet, small splodges of wetness stained the paper below her hands, smudging the inked words she'd scrawled neatly in her cursive handwriting. _Oh_, she realised, _it's not rain. _

Wiping away the tears from her smudging mascara, she sniffled a lot less like the independent woman she claimed to be, and more like a school girl, banned from a tea party being held by one of the school's bitches. Scrunching up the piece of paper in her hands, she tossed it across the room, letting it fall into the waste basket. She got up, heading towards the bathroom to fix up her make-up.

The bathroom was just across from her office, allowing for easy toilet breaks without wasting too much time. Plus, the cafeteria wasn't too far either, so she could always grab a coffee and loiter in one of the cubicles, ignoring the sheer unhygienic-ness of drinking a cappuccino in a toilet stall to kill a couple hours when there was an irritating deadline tugging at her stress levels.

Hands pressed against the sides of the porcelain sink, she looked at her reflection with blank eyes. She was gorgeous by anyone's standards – super model level, perhaps. Her brown hair falling past her shoulders, a single lock of hair tugged over her shoulder. Her eyes were unnaturally blue – brighter than any shade of the sky she'd ever gazed upon. Her mascara was smudged down her bottom eyelid and onto her cheeks, her lashes dangling over her pupils a little too much to be classified as desirable. Faint, brown eye shadow donned her upper eyelid, glossy lips parted as she sobbed again, hitting her forehead against the mirror.

"Megurine-san, you have a client," sounded through the door, causing the brunette standing in front of the mirror to hit her head against the mirror once more, stomach clenching in agony of what would happen next.

"I'll be there in a few moments," was her reply, voice calmer than naturally possible for someone feeling the emotions rocketing through her mind. Grabbing a tissue from her pocket, she wiped off her mascara as best she could, reapplying her mascara enough to make her face look acceptable. She had to look good; for the sake of whatever poor kid had been marched down to see her now.

She pulled her shirt straight, tightening her tie, checking to make sure all the buttons of her white cotton shirt were done up, before heading back across the hallway to her office.

"Sincerest apologies about that," she said, offering the kid she found sitting in the chair across from hers the biggest smile possible. The kid looked young – sixteen perhaps. He was one of those hipster-types, with his hair dyed a light blue; perhaps teal would be a better description, given its green tinge. He was a mess; tear-stained, reddened eyes, a dark look upon his face with his lips clamped tightly.

"My name's Megurine Luka. You can call me Luka, alrighty?" She greeted him, receiving absolutely no response in return. She shuffled over to her chair, settling her lower half into the relatively comfortable seat, continuing to keep her fake smile plastered over her features.

Silence passed agonisingly slow; she tried her hardest to show absolutely no weakness. After all, this boy was going through a tough time - and it was her job to help him, find out who his parents were, and then return him home _safely_; not spurt out all her own issues to him.

"So; what's your name?" She asked in the sweetest tone she could manage.

"Mikuo," was the mumbled reply of the boy, "My name is Mikuo." He left it at that, not bothering to gift her a glance of his eyes.

"Alright, Mikuo. What's your surname?" She asked, continuing to paint her voice with fake sympathy, or empathy; whatever the kid wanted to hear.

"I'm not an idiot," Mikuo replied, eyes flickering up to meet Luka's. He looked mildly angered by her comment, as if she'd insulted his waistline or something; - "If I give you my last name, you'll find out who exactly I am, and send me back _home_."

A couple of moments passed, the only noise the steady breathing of the counsellor and her client, and the monotone tick-tocking of the fish-themed clock, hanging behind the brunette on the wall.

"Right." She agreed, feeling the awkward silence had stayed long past its welcome, "Well, then. Anything you want to tell me? Like, for instance, stuff you like to do?"

He stared at her intensely for a few moments, and she took the opportunity to study his eyes. She always thought eyes were the doorway to the soul. His eyes flickered back and forth, like he was studying her every move; occasionally flickering back down to his hands. His eyebrows were constantly furrowed, a mix of anger, distrust and pain painted on his features. He was cute; even with such an expression. The sort of boy Luka would date in high school, she supposed.

Eventually, the corner of his lips twitched up momentarily and his eyebrows fell back to their normal place. He cleared his throat, putting on the corniest, British accent he could possibly muster, "Well, Megurine-san, my hobbies include arson, holding up petrol stations, jacking off the raunchiest lesbian porn videos _available _on the internet, hacking into government websites and kidnapping young children from their cribs – who I throw off of bridges afterwards."

He didn't flinch; didn't move even a muscle. Staring at her with the biggest poker-face she'd ever seen from one of her clients, hands folded in his lap; a part of her wanted to hit the kid around the head and _demand _he tell her where he lived, as this shit had gone on long enough already. Another part of her wanted to laugh, and cry, and yell at the world.

He reminded her of her brother so much.

Squeezing her eyes shut in hopes of remaining entirely professional as her reputation dictated, she took a deep breath, "That's. Very nice," she said absentmindedly, her usual reply when the kids listed off their boring hobbies – skating, video games, hanging out with friends, singing, dancing, horse-riding.

"A robot would be more helpful than you," the boy scoffed snidely, eyes trailing away from the woman in front of him to the window. In his eyes, it was a dreary day. Sun-shining, birds serenading the late-sleepers; absolutely, horribly dreary. It was more relaxing when rain peltered against rooftops, droplets sliding down glass before plopping onto the windowsills. It was so much nicer when he stepped outside to the smell of fresh dew on the lawn, horrid crows screeching at him. He loved crows.

He was snapped out of his day dream by the door slamming shut, causing him to jump, ripples going up the hairs on his neck. The slam was followed by sobbing noises and the clacking of frantic stilettos making their way across the hallway, to a room that he didn't know was the bathroom.

He could easily just get up and leave; but he didn't know where he'd go. Home wasn't an option, and if he went anywhere else, he'd most likely end up back here – which would just be a hassle. He sighed, hitting his head against the back of the chair, staring at the ceiling with blank eyes. He'd just wait for the oversensitive bitch to get back, he decided. Then he'd devise a plan – go to L.A or something, get away from absolutely everything.

After ten minutes of waiting, he got bored. Standing up he waltzed over to the woman's desk, grabbing one of the pens from the corny pen-holder that was most likely made by a child she'd had during her teenage years, before digging around for some paper. After finding none in plain sight – and having enough dignity to not go through her drawers – he pulled a piece of scrunched-up paper from the waste basket, sitting back in his chair.

He smoothed out the paper, frowning as he realised she'd written _notes _on it. Who the hell even uses paper notes these days-? _Oh_, he realised after a few moments, _oh it's a eulogy. _

And, instantly, guilt stabbed him through the stomach. She wasn't an oversensitive bitch after all; it was actually he who was an insensitive arsehole. Tossing the pen across the table he decided he had three options; a) Put the paper back and wait for her to return, acting like nothing happened b) go and find her and apologise or c) L.A baby.

Eventually, he decided to go with b. He'd always been a b guy – from grades, to when taking tests online. If in doubt? The answer is obviously b. As it's the only letter out of the options (a, b, c) in the word _obviously_. Pushing out of his chair, he pushed open the door in a quiet manner, looking up and down the hallway for any sign of where she may have run off to.

Okay, maybe for just _once _in his life, b wasn't the right answer. Look at that – it was in the word _maybe _as well. Given, so was a; so maybe – just maybe – a was the right answer-

God, he did not have time to be having an inner-self conversation of whether A or B should be his default answer for everything and anything. Just as he was about to begin discussing the meaning of life, death, existence and everything else with himself, the door across the hall opened, causing him to, yet again, jump. He really needed to stop doing that.

It was, of course, Luka. She looked as if she were going into battle in Afghanistan, rather than talking to an angst-filled sixteen-year-old run-away with depression. Before his imagination caught hold of that phrase and began planning out an entire war of counsellors and run-aways, uniting to free themselves of society's restrictions and their horrible home lives, Luka spoke.

"I'm sorry. About that," she said hesitantly, coughing awkwardly before staring at the shorter male, "I really should get a hold of myself."

"It's alright," he assured her, speaking with a tone so much gentler than before it almost gave Luka a heart attack from sheer shock, "I… Uh, I saw. The eulogy in your bin. Must be tough – having your brother…" He trailed off, knowing it was obviously not only rude and disrespectful, but _stupid_ to go through someone's rubbish; and even _stupider_ to admit it afterwards to the said person.

"Oh," was her answer, pure and simple. They stood there, in the awkwardest silence of the day yet – which was a pretty difficult thing to boast.

"Hatsune," the boy sighed, staring at his feet.

"Pardon-?"

"Hatsune. My surname is Hatsune."

::::::

It was roughly three days later that Mikuo found himself sitting the backseat of Luka's car, on his way to not _home _as he'd been expecting, but some place he'd never expect to find himself – a foster home. After explaining his reasons for running away from home, his father had been arrested and he'd become a warden of the state. And, as cool as that title sounded – Mikuo Hatsune; warden of the ENTIRE (yes, we DID say entire!) state! Issue five coming to a store near you soon for only $5.99! – He felt hollow inside.

Sure, he'd wanted this – wanted to never, ever see that man that was a horrible excuse for a father. But he had quite literally nothing left – except a shirt, pair of jeans, boxers, socks with holes in them and a pair of worn trainers. Oh, and of course, his sassy attitude and over-active imagination.

It was a not-so-dreary day today. Rain drops smoothed their way down across the glass of Luka's beautiful, black sports car. There were no birds out today serenading bird lovers and bird haters alike; it was a nice day. He closed his eyes, feeling a sort of heaviness take him over – he could remember clearly; sitting in the lounge room by his mother's feet, playing with one of the old, tatty books she'd dubbed his plaything.

"_The rain makes everything look so sad."_

"_Don't be saddened by the rain, Mikuo. It brings water – and everything needs water. Plants grow, animals breed; we all survive because of the rain. It's a beautiful thing."_

"Do you want me to turn on the radio?" Luka asked softly from the front seat, manicured nails sunk into the fluffy steering wheel cover, donned with unnatural pink-and-blue striped cartoon kittens, "You said during our talk last night that music helps you relax."

"Yeah," Mikuo mumbled in return, bottom lip pressed against the palm of his hand, elbow digging into the car door. The radio crackled on, windscreen wipers make dull noises as they bumped against the sides of the windscreen. Luka switched through the channels until it landed on one playing music that wasn't sexual, a quiet, if not sad song sounding throughout the car.

It was a weird thing – how you fall asleep, though you can never remember actually beginning to doze off. One moment, your awake, wide-eyed, thinking up the formulas required to build a settlement on the moon, and the next you're gone. The rough rocking of the car was more the rocking of a cot to Mikuo as he slept peacefully in the back seat, some crappy talk show that Luka listened to blurring into the background.

Maybe that's what death was like – one moment, you're there. Then you simply doze off, though in most cases whilst feeling immense pain in some part of your body. But, still; besides that, theoretically, wouldn't dying be _exactly _like going to sleep? Except there's no annoying alarm clock, no unnecessary thoughts or dreams – just emptiness; pure, blissful, silent emptiness.

Cracking his sleep-glued eyes open, Mikuo looked forward to the rear-view mirror just in time to see Luka's eyes flick away from checking on him, "We're almost there," she assured him gently as the wheels slowly turned around the corner. Mikuo allowed his eyes to flicker up to the window by his side – it was still raining. He hoped the rain wouldn't stop; not anytime soon.

:::::::

How she managed to walk in heels that high without tripping over – let alone across the slippery damp pathway – was a mystery to Mikuo. Why women even _wore _high heels in the first place confused him. Maybe it was a superiority complex with having inhumanly massive wedges stuck to your heels that was somehow passed down through having two X chromosomes? A sign of constantly striving to bring gender equality to the world, through becoming taller and therefore more apposing? Or maybe it was just to make their legs and rear end look more attractive like most magazines explained?

Whichever it was, Mikuo could only watch in amazement as Luka strutted up to the door of a two-storey house, envelope in one hand, umbrella in the other. It was evening now – with the sun shining a vibrant red across the side of the residential building, red dyed across the sloping roof.

Sitting in the car, Mikuo waited. Waiting was always a boring, yet necessary thing; so he'd come to think of it like a chore. If you wait, you get something in return. Sort of like opening a present given to you for your birthday – just in slow motion.

Luka knocked on the door, which was answered moments after by a young girl around Mikuo's age – perhaps a little younger. She stood at the door for a few moments, before turning her head to yell something back inside. Only seconds later, a middle-aged woman and man stood in the door frame, rain droplets dripping from the curved roof onto the welcome mat as they talked with Luka.

Several minutes later, Luka was walking back with her hips swaying ever-so-slightly, umbrella still grasped in her left hand unlike the envelope which had been exchanged to the woman by the door. The door handle clicked as the car door was pulled open, the rain thundering to the ground.

"C'mon, Mikuo," Luka said with her ever-present bitterly sweet smile, "This is your new home."

Home; what a cryptic word. Something that was considered a 'house' usually wasn't considered a 'home'. After all, his neighbours had had a house; but it wasn't his _home_. Standing, he stepped outside of the warm comfortable interior of the sports car, the radio drowning out into the distance behind the buzz of heavy rain hitting cement.

With Luka's hand placed gently on his upper back, he was guided to the doorway of his new _home_. He didn't get a good look at his new _parents_ as they rushed him inside.

"Alrighty, I'll leave you to get settled in," Luka grinned from the entrance, as the middle-aged woman draped a blanket over Mikuo's shoulders. He went to glance up at her before being assaulted by a slobbery kiss from Luka, lipstick smudged across his cheek, "If you need anything – anything at all, you've got my number."

And, to the sight of Luka's back as she swung her hips over to her expensive-looking sports car, the door slammed shut.

::::::

From what he'd seen of weird occult films and the like, this was beginning to take the form of an interrogation scene. The sort where the suspect is pinned down and bombarded with questions from the cops. Good cop asks all the easy questions and gives the suspect constant reassurance that if they give them the answers they'll get government protection or such. Bad cop threatens them – maybe even _beats_ them – into giving answers.

Yeah; this was definitely one of those scenes - minus the pinning down, beating and interrogation.

The dining room and kitchen were shoved into one relatively large room, a grandfather clock settled against the wall between the two areas, ticking as it boasted knowing the time. Mikuo was seated at one side of the white-and-yellow-chequered fold-out card table between two other chairs. On the other side were his new _parents_ – Rui and Rei, as they'd been introduced to him.

Uncannily similar names he'd say - almost like they were freaking siblings, or soul mates or some other worldly crap. It didn't help his suspicions with the fact they looked so similar.

Rui had the typical bob haircut; a beautiful, natural deep black at the roots, fading out to shades of grey – fifty shades of grey, he's even go as far to say - all the way to the tips. She was the sort that still managed to boast flawless skin after years and years of aging; the only wrinkles indicating smile lines and kind expressions. Her eyes were best described as butterscotch; too many highlights dotting across her pupil considering the room's lighting, eyelashes thicker than any mascara. She wore loose-fitting, simple clothes. T-shirt and jeans, flip-flops donning her feet.

Rei was the opposite in aura. His hair was sleeked down to perfection, pulled back into a short ponytail that fell against the flat of his neck – however, it was painfully obvious it was dyed from the blond eyebrows sticking up from under strands of ebony hair. His eyes were a gold-brown shade, a lot duller than his wife's. He seemed to still be wearing his work clothes as well – neatly buttoned white shirt, folded down across the slopes of his chest without any creases to be seen.

"You're Mikuo, right?" Rui asked; her voice as sweet as he'd have imagined it from her looks, "I'm Rui, this is my husband Rei – though I'm sure Luka-san already told you that."

He simply nodded in response, arms folded over the rough metallic surface of the card table that he'd be eating off of for the rest of his teenage years – knowing his luck, possibly and probably longer.

"There's no way we can really assure you of anything. I mean – this is an entirely new experience for you, and therefore, it's going to be different and possibly scary compared to anything you've done in the past," Rui went on, eyes trained on Mikuo to make sure he was paying at least the slightest bit of attention, "Hopefully, though, with time you come to think of us like your real family. There are three girls staying with us too; you can meet them when you feel confident enough, alright?"

He gave another curt nod, causing a smile to break across the middle-aged woman's features.

"I'll show you around," she explained as she pushed her chair away, giving Rei a look that caused him to jump to attention and stand as well. Mikuo followed suit, feeling Rui's warm, gentle hand on his shoulder, reassuringly guiding him to the bathroom upstairs.

It was quite a nice house, really – a living room, kitchen-dining area and den on the bottom floor, with bathroom-laundry space and five bedrooms upstairs. From what he'd seen during his walk inside, they had a nice TV as well; perfect for wasting hours and hours in front of playing the latest Nintendo games.

After a small tour, Mikuo retired to his bedroom which was across the hall from one of the girl's rooms. From what he could tell just from the posters and stickers pinned to her door, she was tom boy. A massive 'Keep Out!' sign took up the majority of the wall, the sort of stickers you got free with brochures from washing machine companies stuck over each other all over the rest of the door. Hanging loosely from the handle was a 'my bed won't make itself' hanger.

It was weird – looking at even just the door of her room, compared to his own. The walls of his own room had recently been painted a dull off-white, pink paint visible at the edge of doorframe and window. Grey curtains hung from the curtain rail, kissing the wooden floorboards as they fluttered in the window. His room consisted of a brass bed with plain covers, a desk completely devoid of personal belongings and a chair. There were a few shelves on the walls, but, besides that, nothing else.

Falling onto his bed, he stared at the ceiling. New life, new family, new house, new neighbourhood… _A new me_, he decided.

::::::

Though he wouldn't necessarily say he was _ready _to meet any of the girls, or walk around the house by himself, he had nothing else to do. There's only a certain amount of time that counting the amount of stars glued to the ceiling of your bedroom is entertaining, and only a certain amount of time that adolescent Mikuo could go without connection to the digital world.

Letting his foot fall from the last step of the small staircase, Mikuo raised his gaze from the fascinating sight of his big toe sticking through his sock to meet three curious sets of eyes – the girls. God, even though he was taller than even the tallest of them, they were intimidating. They _knew _each other – like an agency of spies. Besides; girls were terrifying regardless. It was like all of them knew this secret language, and could easily pass on messages and plan your _death _without you knowing. Not to mention breasts – they were like built-in armour, made to protect the lungs and heart from swords and knives.

Eventually, Mikuo decided that his opponents wouldn't speak, as they could easily just send telepathic messages to each other via femineity, so he decided to make the first approach. Coughing awkwardly, he offered a simple, "Hi," in hopes of something to strike up conversation.

However, after the reply of two 'hi's and one 'yo', it became pretty obvious that wasn't going to happen any time soon. And, after an awkward staring contest with the three girls, he decided that the television was definitely going to be a better conversation than them, and made his way to the den.

The den looked pretty ancient – a small television, tatty couch and desk, with the carpet shedding, a more faded shade of green than he guessed it was ever supposed to be. He would've gone for the super-duper plasma high definition TV in the lounge, but Rei was watching rugby league when he passed by; and of all things Mikuo couldn't stand (e.g. broken biros, pop stars with bad haircuts, apple-blackcurrant drinks, Christmas carols) sport was the thing he couldn't stand the most.

"Good luck figuring out how to turn it on by yourself," sniggered a snide, feminine voice from the doorway to the den. Jumping in his spot, Mikuo's head spun around, his eyes landing on one of the girls – the tallest of them. She had light blonde hair falling just below her chin, the side of it pulled up into a small ponytail. Black ribbons were laced through her fringe into the side-tail. Tucked under her fringe and over her right eye was a black eye-patch with a pattern that reminded Mikuo of an anime on it. She wore a loose black shirt, showing off her almost miniscule bust with its low collar, a chain necklace cold against her collarbone. Snug around her hips were knee-length shorts, her feet bare.

"Hi to you, too," he responded, looking back to the old television. He'd never seen one _that _old. He was beginning to doubt if it was even colour. Waltzing over to it, he crouched down, staring at it intently. Raising his hand, he turned one of the knobs on the edge of the screen slightly, resulting in absolutely no change. After fiddling with the rest of the knobs and buttons, Mikuo frowned - mostly at the TV, but also at the snorts and giggles coming from the couch behind him.

"Try plugging it in, _genius_."

Oh. Yeah, right – appliances need electricity to run. He almost forgot completely about that. Fascinating thing, electricity-; He could have that conversation later. Rising to his feet, he walked around to the back of the television, looking for the power cord. It didn't take long to find it – discarded to the side, lying over the top of a cord belonging to a floor lamp in the corner. Crouching down, he grabbed the power cord and quickly pushed the end into the power socket, jumping almost half a mile in the air as the television began playing – so loudly his ears bled internally – the title screen credits of some old movie.

His frightened reaction set the girl off laughing, wiping the shock off his face, replacing it with a frown. He glared at her over his shoulder, before rising to his feet once again. Amazingly, he recognised the movie – The Great Race. One of his mother's favourites.

"Your face," his companion giggled from the couch, "Absolutely fucking priceless."

"So, I'm guessing you're the bitch around here," Mikuo said curtly, eyeing the girl as she leaned forward, as if to purposely show off her white laced bra, flat against her chest, as if it were a trophy of sorts, "Like to flaunt your attitude, boss everyone around."

Her light eyebrows shot up, forehead wrinkling as her grin slowly grew wider, "Wow, you're so polite. Especially considering you moved in like, an hour ago. Place already smells of your hairy arm pits." She leaned back, letting the chain necklace fall flat against her skin again, "Name's Olivia. Yours is Mikuo, I know, I know. Your name is only thing that's been said at the breakfast table past two days."

"Sorry for taking up valuable weather-talk time with the excitement of my arrival," he apologised in a monotone voice, trying to figure out how to open the DVD player wired up to the television. The couch behind him creaked as Olivia rose to her feet, walking up to Mikuo's side. He glared at her accusingly, causing her to simply roll her eyes.

"Oh don't look at me like that, it's not like I'm gonna steal your socks," she replied, falling to her knees in front of the DVD player, forcing Mikuo to step back. Flipping her bangs out of her eyes with a toss of her head, she jammed her fingers under the box, slamming the palm of her other hand into the side. Like magic, the top of the DVD player popped up, revealing _The Great Race _disc sitting inside.

Pulling it from the DVD player, Olivia waltzed over a stack of DVD cases, grabbing one and shoving _The Great Race _inside, despite it being wrongly labelled as _The Matrix: Reloaded_.

"Nothing's in the right spot anymore," Olivia commented, looking over her shoulder at Mikuo, beckoning him over with her eyes, "So you've just gotta open case after case until you find something mildly interesting. Don't bother sorting it – Rui's tried. There's over three hundred discs scattered around this room."

Mikuo collapsed to the floor, crossing his legs as he shuffled forwards, grabbing one of the discs from the mountain.

"It's like a mountain," Mikuo commented, popping open one of the cases, sealing it shut again after glancing at the disc sitting inside, "Mt. Disc."

"The tallest Disc Mountain in the world," Olivia grinned cheekily, grabbing another case from the mountain in front of them. Mikuo studied her for a few moments – her face really lit up when she was happy; her smile was lopsided, which Mikuo found sorta cute. Not that 'cute' would be the correct word to describe Olivia's personality.

The two continued sorting through the many movies; case after case added to the pile of glanced-at discs. To pass the time, they talked about the movies they'd seen that'd left a lasting impression; their favourite series, so forth. Mikuo learnt that Olivia was a big science fiction nerd; according to her description, she had lines and lines of figurines on the shelves of her bedroom walls, with posters overlapping to the point they covered more of the wall than paint did.

"So," Olivia said, sealing shut the held case in her hands with the trademark click, "I'd ask how on earth you got into the whole adoption thing, but I'm guessing it's something you're not too eager to relive, huh?" She asked, cocking a thin, light eyebrow in the teal-haired punk's general direction.

Disregarding her given look of question, Mikuo snapped shut the last of the cases in front of him, setting aside the mislabelled copy of _Van Hellsing_ with a yawn. He let his eyes flicker up to his new "sister's" face, finding she was frozen in place with her quizzical expression, expecting some sort of answer from him. He sighed, "I think the better question is would _you _happily share why you're here?"

"Nope," she responded instantaneously, her eyebrow falling back into its normal, slightly dropped position, her default expression of sassiness returning, "But you never know. Some attention whores will happily blurt out their sob stories of how their parents tragically passed away; looking for hugs and sympathy. My past isn't tragic or some shit; I just don't want to tell someone and have coos and cries of 'you poor child'."

"Same." He said curtly, leaning on his knee to stand, his world spinning momentarily at the movement. He steadied himself, rubbing the side of his head as he yawned again.

"Long day, huh," Olivia stated, rather than asked. She gave him one more upwards glance, before flashing her teeth in a cocky grin, "Go get some beauty sleep, new boy. Your real tour starts tomorrow."

**A/N:**

_Yep; yet another series; I'd like to make some announcements in this A/N though. I'm aware not all my readers will see this, due to the fact not all of you will be M/L fans. However, the fan fics I'm deciding to __keep working on__ are The Death of Hatsune Miku, Exist In Your Heart and this one; as well as collaborations. One-shots may be uploaded in between updates, but besides from that, each fic's updates will be in order; so the next chapter of TDoHM will come before the EiYH one, then the next chapter of this, and it'll continue until they're all finished, and given the 'complete' status. I'm striving to write something every day, and sketch or draw something every day as well. _

_Thanks for reading this! Though not obvious yet, it __will__ be MikuoxLuki. Rating may go up if someone decides that teenage-related issues and influences such as depression, smoking and drug-references aren't suited for T. Because, y'know; society. There won't be any explicate sexual scenes, or any actual use of drugs; just references to it happening. If you can't deal with swearing, well; you're not gonna get very far in society, or in this fiction. That's all._

_Artificial Identity_


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